


Hold me, love me, touch me, honey (be the first who ever did)

by linzackles



Series: That's it? That's it. [7]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: 101 AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Sharing a Bed, strangers AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:46:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22375915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linzackles/pseuds/linzackles
Summary: A one-night stand between strangers becomes a fraught business deal, which becomes something neither of them know how to label.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Series: That's it? That's it. [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1426429
Comments: 36
Kudos: 187





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to the previous part, _And at first, we were strangers_. Thank you so much for your feedback on that, I'm so glad you wanted to see more! It made me feel really inspired. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy :)

“Hey.”

Their eyes had met across the room as soon as he entered and they'd held the contact for just a few seconds before she'd had to look away.

There's too much there – too much past – to put on top of the guilt and shame of the present.

Now she looks up to meet Rio's eyes, eyes she's thought about since the minute she left them.

“Hi.”

He looks like he's debating about something, but then he slides in across from her just like last time.

“Haven't seen you ’round in a while.”

Not since that night. She's wanted to come back – had thought about him, _god, had she thought about him_ – but she’d been elbow-deep in trying to salvage her marriage.

“I came to look for you,” she admits.

Had hoped he’d be here. For so many reasons that have nothing to do with why she’s here.

_I come here when I'm lonely. And that's a lot of the damn time._

“Hmm,” he acknowledges. He looks around a little, almost antsy, before settling his gaze back on her. “Whatsup?”

And the longer she holds it in, the worse the shame becomes, so she forces herself to just blurt it out.

“I need money.”

It must come as a surprise, but it barely seems to faze him as he blinks lightly.

Still, he doesn't say anything, and Beth's cheeks burn.

“I wouldn't ask if it weren't important. Dean – my husband – made some stupid investments and– god, I don't know how, I just know the house is about to be taken away.”

She wishes she could stop it from sounding like she’s begging, but she is, isn’t she? That’s the position Dean had put their family in.

It's at this moment the waitress arrives, bringing a shot Rio must've ordered before he'd made it over to her.

He thanks her and after she leaves there’s a moment of silence, awkward, before he speaks.

“The house your four kids stay in?”

He remembers.

“Yes.”

He does his shot – vodka, she thinks – before looking back at her, his gaze heavy.

“…And why'd you think I'd have that kinda money for you?”

“I didn't,” she lies. “But, short of going door to door, you're the only other person I know to ask.”

“Nobody's all that flush in the ’burbs, huh?”

She doesn't know what to say to this, so instead she presses on.

“I'd pay you back, obviously, it would just be a loan and—"

“How much you need?”

She blinks. “Ten thousand dollars.”

It’s a huge amount but this, too, doesn't seem to bother him.

He sits back in his seat, though, eyes roaming her in consideration.

“What if I didn't loan it to ya, what if I paid you?”

Beth frowns. “...I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

What could he possibly want to pay her for?

In her mind she sees the stack of money he'd taken out of that safe before placing his gun inside.

A prostitution ring? She can't think of anything else she could possibly do, anything she's qualified for, that would earn her that kind of money – especially not as fast as she needs it.

He shrugs a shoulder.

“Maybe there’s somethin you could help me out with.”

Her breath stutters out because – she's nervous but excited, too. The chance to earn the money instead of creating even more debt is incredibly enticing.

But.

“What’s that?”

He shakes his head as if they’re arguing. “I'd need you this weekend: three nights, two days. No exceptions. No leaving.”

Her eyes must round because he bursts into laughter, his back hitting the booth.

“Relax, mami. It's a mixer, that's all.”

“A _mixer_?”

“Yeah.” He seems to consider her for a moment. Then: “You could say I... need a date.”

She nearly chokes on her own spit, but thankfully manages to segue it into a demure frown.

“I'm sure you don't have trouble finding dates.”

He shrugs a shoulder. “I need a date who looks like you.”

“L-like me?”

“Yeah, it's all rich old white people.”

She resets her shoulders, trying very hard not to be offended by that. Trying very hard to remember that this is a job, he's offering to pay her. She doesn't have the luxury of being offended. Just add it to the list of things Dean had taken from her.

“Ok.” She clears her throat. “This weekend.”

“Good. Bring your country club outfits; all your fancy jewellery. Then kiss them kids goodbye and tell em momma's gotta go to work.”

There's a harshness about him now, a sharp aloofness. It's a side of him she hadn't met the first time, and it leaves her feeling cold; isolated.

“Get a babysitter, there ain't no leavin,” he emphasises.

Annie probably won’t mind, provided she and Dean don’t tear each other apart.

“That's fine,” she nods.

“Good. Gimme your number, I'll text you the details.”

She does, but can’t prevent herself from looking at him strangely.

“What?”

“I don't understand why you're paying me to be your date.”

“I wanted their business but needed an in,” he pops a matter-of-fact brow. “Now you my in.”

He says this very simply even though Beth has about a thousand follow-up questions. But, before she can ask any of them, the waitress is on her way back over and Rio spots her too, shifting.

“I gotta go.”

She's opening her mouth to respond but then the waitress has reached their table and Rio jerks his chin in Beth's direction.

“Set her up on my tab, please.”

And then he's gone, leaving Beth to wonder what the hell she'd just gotten herself into.

* * *

**Ask for the Meade room.**

It's the last in Rio's string of texts instructing her here and Beth double-checks it before approaching the receptionist's desk, which is made of the same gleaming mahogany as most things in the hotel lobby.

“Good evening, welcome to The Shinola Hotel Resort. Do you have a reservation?”

“Um, yes, I'm in the Meade Room.”

She taps a little on her screen then looks up with a wide smile.

“Fantastic. Your husband has already checked in and left word to give you a key when you arrive.”

Her... _husband_?

But the woman is still talking at what seems like a mile a minute to Beth's stalled brain, and soon she’s handing over a keycard with an even wider smile.

“Will you be needing help with your bags?”

* * *

Beth thanks the bellhop and the door clicks behind him as he half-bows out of the room.

_Your husband has already checked in_

But the room is empty; untouched.

She steps further in, spellbound by the gorgeous luxury of the room; its rich jewel tones. There's splendour in every finish of it, the giant four-poster bed taking up the bulk of the room and covered in crisp white linen.

There's a painting on the ceiling above it, something abstract and filled with deep blues and golds. In front of the bed is a sapphire couch; a little sitting area.

Stepping further into the room, she catches sight of the bathroom.

The doors are transparent, framed by heavy curtains, and the black stone tiling inside is specked with bits of gold, like a painter had taken a light brush to it. The huge his and hers basins are set between the marble bath and the double set of showers.

Realising she'd been holding it in, Beth lets out a long breath.

It's unerringly gorgeous, all of it. To say nothing of the view outside, past the little balcony where a giant azure pool gleams beside tennis courts and rolling lawns.

She's never been in a place anything like this before.

She's heading to the balcony to properly take in the view dappled in the dying sunset, but comes to a stop, seeing a note on the bed.

It's on card-sized stock paper, hard; spidery letters inked in black pen.

Realising it must be from Rio, she picks it up with a small breath.

_Order food up + make yourself comfortable_

_R._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for you feedback! Here is a longer chapter as promised :)

Beth spends an hour looking out at the view, an hour talking to Annie and the kids and then an hour flipping through TV channels.

By 11pm, she calls it: he’s not coming.

She thinks of texting him, but figures that would be presumptuous. He’d never said they were sharing a room or that she would see him tonight. She supposes she’d just assumed there’d be some kind of, well… orientation.

Huffing out a sigh, Beth rises from the couch and starts unpacking.

She hangs everything that she doesn’t want creasing further then starts carting her face products to the bathroom.

That’s where she catches sight of the huge white fluffy robes and Beth decides she _needs_ a shower. Needs clean skin against the soft enrobing; to wrap herself up in it. It turns out, though, that the second door doesn’t lead to a second shower – it's the toilet in its own small room, which Beth makes a mental note of before starting up the shower and climbing in when it's piping hot.

She'd showered before leaving home, she doesn't really need to get clean – she just lets the water run over her till her skin is red, blotchy.

Then she wraps herself in the robe – it’s even softer, somehow, than she’d imagined – and climbs right into bed.

Beth stares off into the dark and before she even really knows it, tears are falling onto her lips, hot and steady. Then her chest is racking with it and she’s curling over onto her side, a concave of sorrow. And she isn't even sure why she’s crying, not really.

Maybe it's being alone when she hadn't expected to be.

Maybe it's that she thought he'd be here to make her forget. To make her forget again.

Maybe it's because she always would've been miserable no matter what.

She remembers Kenny's voice on the phone, right at the end: _Daddy says he misses you._

She wants so many things that make no sense together. She wants the children to know exactly what he'd done; for them to hate him as much as she does. She wants them to never be touched by any of this and always see him as the hero they know him as now.

She wants everything to be different, wants to burn everything down in anarchy; she wants everything to go back to how it had once been, for someone to erase all her memories of the past week.

Most of all, she wants not to be alone. She is so alone in all of this.

Annie and Ruby come closest, but they bring their own biases to the situation, and neither of them have ever really understood her fondness for Dean, the way he made her feel safe in a world that has never taken care of her. The ways she had loved him even if she'd never been _in love_ with him. All the small things he'd done to take care of her and provide for their family. The sweet messages he'd used to send her when they were still dating to let her know he was thinking of her.

These are the things he had betrayed, the life he had thrown back in her face, and it hurts, aches, because she hadn't been happy, either. But she'd thought _he was_. And if he wasn't, then what was the point of it all? Where has 20 years of her life gone?

And it's not just that he'd had an affair. Not just that it'd been more than once. Not just that it'd been with someone she knew. No, he'd also gone out and bought his secretary lingerie with money they didn't have.

They'd been about to lose the house their children live in and he'd been more concerned with adorning his child bride’s vagina.

To think Rio – a stranger – had given her this job because he'd seen how dire her situation is, but the father of her children had taken the food out of their mouths to bedazzle his little human ego booster.

God. The anger. The loneliness. Her entire pathetic role in it all.

It has festered inside for so long and all she wants— all she wants is to be someone else.

_Your husband has already checked in_

And, for now, she supposes she is.

* * *

Beth has a headache when she wakes up.

She starts downing water to replace all the tears as she hangs out her outfit for the day.

_Bring your country club outfits; all your fancy jewellery._

But the thing is, Beth doesn’t actually have any fancy jewellery. She has one or two pieces that _look_ expensive, and one or two pieces that had been relatively expensive but that don’t particularly look it. She’s never been one for anything garish.

The clothing had been easier. She’d stopped in at a Nordstrom sale and found a few items to elevate pieces she already has.

She hangs out a crisp white shirt she’d bought, pairing it with straight-cut black floral pants and black heels. Her eyes run over it ponderingly before she decides _yes, it’ll work_. It has to.

She throws open the balcony curtains for the natural morning light, which floods the room and bathroom. Smiling at just this, Beth goes into the bathroom with all her makeup and begins getting ready, curling her hair once she's satisfied with her makeup.

It's been a while since she's been able to get ready like this, take her time with it. Think about how she wants to look then execute it without having to worry about making breakfast or getting Emma into pants.

She’s over halfway done with her hair when she realises there’s talking coming from the bedroom and she twists around, still half caught in her own thoughts, then stills when she catches sight of him.

Rio’s talking to someone from concierge, who seems to have brought in a few more bags, all black leather, and now has her outfit in hand.

She’s distracted by what Rio’s wearing – a turtleneck under a light jacket and dark blue slim chinos – so before she has a chance to say anything, Rio places money in his palm and he disappears.

“Did you just make him take my clothing??” she asks, indignant.

His eyes land on her for the first time and there’s something in his eyes, at the corners of his lips, that makes her wish her robe would swallow her whole.

“Were creased up,” he shrugs. Then he passes a glance over where she’s been busy, her curling iron still on: “You nearly done? We got breakfast in twenty.”

“Well, I don’t have anything _to_ _wear_.”

He snorts. “It’ll be back in time, don’t stress.”

She wants to cross her arms over her chest, annoyed he’d just taken her clothing without so much as an attempt at gaining permission.

But it’s not just that, and she knows it.

She’s annoyed about everything about this situation, all the mysterious everything. Why hadn’t he told her he wouldn’t be here last night? Why couldn't he have let her know in advance when breakfast would be?

“Hope you had a real nice and relaxin meal last night, ’cuz from now on you on the clock,” he says suddenly, bringing her eyes back to him.

She hadn’t actually eaten last night, she suddenly realises, but decides it’s not the most pressing part of the current conversation.

“Doing what, exactly?”

Rolling his shoulders, he takes a step into the bathroom but stops just there, straddling the line between the two rooms.

“The people who gonna be sittin next to us at breakfast, they the VanSantens,” he says, rolling his eyes like it pains him just to say it. “Filthy rich, annoying, but they got a dope art collection.”

Beth frowns. “…Ok?”

He jerks his shoulders back a little; resets them.

“Thing is, they don’t talk about it too much. All that’s out there about it is just rumours. Now, I wanna buy it, all of it, but I wanna know what they got in there first.”

“…Can’t you just ask?”

“Naw, they ain’t up for sellin. Meaning I gotta know if what they got is worth my time and if it is, what the value is so I go in with an offer they can’t refuse,” he explains. “That’s where you come in.”

Beth’s frown deepens. At the bar he’d made it sound like this was a social event, not some undercover mission, and she has no idea how she could possibly help with an art deal.

“How?”

“You charm em, pretend you my wife and get us an in. Try and find out everything you can about their collection without bein obvious.”

Beth blinks. This is… not at all what she’d signed up for, if she’d even had some vision of what she was signing up for.

Not to mention the casual way he’d announced that she should pretend to be his wife.

“How would I even do that?” she accuses, beginning to panic. “I don’t even know anything about art.”

“That’s why you don’t ask about it directly,” he nods matter-of-factly.

“But then how do I ask about it?”

“That’s your job to figure out, ain’t it?” he fires, and she sinks back. He snorts a laugh. “What, you thought I brought you just to look pretty?”

Her cheeks heat because, yes, basically. He said he just needed a date, after all.

But now, she supposes, the money makes more sense. She really is doing a job.

And she doesn’t know what look is on her face – fear, probably – but it seems to mollify him, bringing him closer with a breath.

“Look, a’ight.” He draws another deep breath before looking at her with something serious in his eyes. “You don't get people to tell you shit by askin em, you do it by tellin em stuff first.” He pauses here for a second, as if debating with himself, then says the rest: “You should know, you did it to me.”

Her breath catches.

_I come here when I'm lonely. And that's a lot of the damn time._

_Figured I owed you the truth after all o' that._

It’s the first time he’s brought up that night – honestly, she was beginning to think she’d made it all up – and she stands too still as she tries to process any of this.

Then she clears her throat. 

“Not on purpose.”

He waves a hand. “So then do it on purpose.”

“How can I tell them things about myself when I'm lying about who I am? We’re not married.”

“Oh, yeah. ’Bout that. Out there,” he points at the door, “my name's Christopher.”

“What?” she frowns, confused.

Why do they need to lie about that, too?

“Why? Why not Rio?”

He shrugs a shoulder.

“It's whiter. White people like white names.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Christopher Meade,” he repeats for emphasis, pointing at himself.

And, _oh_. _The Meade room_. She’d thought it was the name of the suite but, no, he’s had this alias planned all along.

It shakes something loose inside her, but he’s barrelling into more before she can interrogate it.

“That makes you Mrs Elizabeth Meade – got it?” he cocks his head like it's a question, but it's really not.

Then he gestures down at the bags he'd brought with him.

“Brought you some jewels to help sell the whole bit – those bitches won’t even sneeze your way ’less you got a few hundred gees on your neck.”

Beth’s head is spinning. She wonders whether she looks green. She can’t do this; god, she can’t.

“Oh, yeah. One more thing.”

One _more_ thing? How many things are there?? Would he like for her to also assume the role of ruler of a small kingdom?

But he turns away, digs into one of his bags, then returns with a small velvet box.

Beth sucks in a breath but he pays her no mind, opening it casually to reveal a diamond ring nearly bigger than the diameter of her finger.

Then he holds it out and she swallows, extending her left hand.

He presses it onto her ring finger slowly, carefully, and Beth feels tingles cross her skin at the touch.

Remembers the way he’d taken the bourbon from her then felt his way up over her thighs and cupped her; pressed a harsh finger to her.

But his touch disappears quickly, and in awe she takes in the brilliant giant diamond set on the thinnest rose gold band.

She can’t stop staring. She feels wealthy just wearing it.

“Don't lose it, it's on loan.”

She forces her gaze up from the ring.

“...From whom?”

“Right now? Me. And if I were you, I'd think less about who it belongs to and more about keepin it on your finger, cuz if you can't give it back to me in two days, it's comin outta your paycheck. And darlin, that means you owe me. Ten times your lil debt, too.”

She glares, annoyed that he keeps reverting to being so unnecessarily abrasive.

“I won't lose it.”

He nods. “That's what I wanna hear.”

“I just meant...” She struggles, then: “Does it belong to your real wife?”

His brow ticks up.

“Who said I was married?”

“Maybe I'd know the answer to that if you ever actually gave a direct one,” she snaps.

He seems amused by this for a second before his eyes cool as he regards her, considering.

“Elizabeth. My only wife is you.”

Before Beth can think to— can think at all, he's bowing down and kissing her.

She loses herself in it, curving her body towards him as he holds her tightly; kisses her softly.

There’s a knock on the door – her clothing, probably – and for a long few seconds they can’t even bring themselves to pull away.

Then he does, lips parting gently from hers before he looks down at her with a look in his eyes she can’t process; can’t name.

Then he rocks away, going to answer the door, and it is her clothing. He thanks the guy then hangs her outfit right back where he’d taken it from. Beth watches, feeling over her lips before finding herself staring back down at the ring.

This is really happening.

“So if I’m your wife, what’s our story?”

Rio turns from his spot at the closet.

“Our story?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “We need a story if we're going to pass as an even halfway believable couple.”

He considers her.

“Like how we met and shit?”

“A bit more practical,” she shakes her head, thinking about every lie she’s ever told that had worked. “Like do we have children?”

“A'ight.” He thinks for less than a second, then: “Two.”

She nods. That's easy to keep track of.

“One boy and one girl.”

“Sure,” he agrees. “Chrysanthemum and Philip.”

She can't help laughing, but rolls her eyes, knowing it's another dig at white-people names.

“Fine. But we call her Chrys for short. How old are they?”

“Fifteen and eighteen. Philip's comin back from boarding school next year and got no idea what he wants to do with his life.”

She giggles a little. “Ok. But I don't think we can pull off being married for that long, so Philip is yours and Chrys is mine. We do need to decide on how long we _have been_ married, though.”

And — all his answers have come lightning fast, but not this one.

He takes a step back; regards her. She heats up beneath his gaze that searches her from top to bottom, analysing. Considering. Then he speaks.

“A year. Still in the honeymoon phase.”

She tries not to flush at that.

Before she can throw out another question, he steps closer.

“You like your details, don’t you?”

“A good lie is all about simplicity," she shrugs, "but a _great lie_ has all the details you need beneath it to peel back as you need.”

He looks at her hard, like he’s trying to figure her out.

She doesn't bend, though; doesn't fold, and he cocks his head with a look of confusion.

“For someone who was buggin a few minutes ago, you sure are good at makin up stories.”

“I got good at it when I was young. It was either make up something that would give a neighbour bleeding heart syndrome, or not feed my sister for the night.”

And now his eyes take her in in a very different way, as if he has never quite seen all of her before.

“What?” she says deliberately coolly. “You thought I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth?”

He seems to turn his next words over in his mouth before hesitantly letting them out.

“Guess I did, yeah.”

“I guess I’m not a cliché, after all,” she shoots, smug; glad to finally have the upper hand.

His lips twist up at the sides and she feels a glow inside her as the expression on his face tells her that that night doesn’t live in her memory alone.

No matter how many girls he may have been with after, he still remembers their conversation from that night.

But then he looks away; reaches for the doors.

“Finish up, yeah? Meantime Imma do some unpackin.”

And just like that he’s back on top, Beth sucking in a breath at this final piece of confirmation that she didn’t know she’d been waiting on till this very moment.

“So... we're sharing this room, then?”

Of its own volition, her gaze darts to the bed behind him as she swallows, nervous, and of course Rio catches it.

He looks amused. “Don't worry, darlin, I don't fuck in hotels.”

She blinks.

“Why?”

By the time she realises she’s said this aloud, it’s too late, he’s shrugging.

“Too clinical. Too nasty. Too Pretty Woman.”

He says each of these like he knows they conflict with one another but he doesn't actually care. Which she would question, but there's something else she needs to follow up on.

“You've seen Pretty Woman?”

“I got sisters,” he shrugs.

He's so nonchalant about it all and Beth would ask but she knows they're running out of time, so instead she decides to get back to it, finish her hair.

But she stops halfway through turning back to the mirror. 

"Rio."

He doesn't reply, just slowly raises a brow. 

“You'd—you'd tell me if you were getting me involved in something... untoward, right?”

“Untoward?” he repeats, rolling his tongue over the word like it's a stone in his mouth. 

She clears her throat; straightens.

“Like if this was some kind of… racketeering, or something.”

Rio seems very amused by her discomfort in saying this. But then his features iron out, serious.

“Know what the best part of paying someone ten gees for three days o' work is?”

She shakes her head. “What?”

“That you don't gotta answer their questions," he deadpans. "Be ready in five.”

And then he shuts the doors and the curtains, leaving her in the dark.

* * *

**Beth's day one Looks:**

[ ](https://ibb.co/s3f1BRm)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Curious to hear your theories and what you thought 😄

**Author's Note:**

> What do you guys think? I know it was short, I think later chapters will be longer, but I just wanted to set things up a little. Are you still interested?


End file.
